The Rising Sea (NUMA Files 15)

Kurt smiled and took the comment without rebuttal. He was dressed in a double-breasted white dinner jacket with a silk shawl collar, a crisp white shirt and a trim bow tie. Shades of Bogart in Casablanca.

Unlike Joe, he was clean-shaven, though he’d let his sideburns grow down a bit and had dyed his silver hair black to make it less likely he’d be recognized. “How far to the Sento?”

Superintendent Nagano, dressed as a chauffeur, glanced back at them from the driver’s seat. “No more than five minutes. Enough time for me to ask once again whether you want to risk this?”

“It’s the only way,” Kurt said.

Joe nodded his agreement.

Nagano turned his gaze back to the road ahead. “You understand once you’re inside, I cannot assist you. For obvious reasons, the police cannot raid this establishment without causing a bloodbath.”

“I’m not expecting any violence,” Kurt said. “If the place is run as tightly as you suggest, Ushi-Oni won’t be armed.”

“He can kill without firearms or knives,” Nagano said. “He can kill with his bare hands or with a hundred different everyday objects. Death is an art form to him. Be extremely careful that he doesn’t see you place the tracking device.”

Kurt nodded. In his pocket were two coins; inside each lay a sophisticated beacon. Joe was carrying two similar coins. The plan was to slip one into the pocket of the Demon and another into the pocket of whoever paid him off, track them, once they left the building, and take them down outside the gambling palace. Whoever found themselves in closest proximity to the targets would make the attempt. Knowing that Ushi-Oni had fought Joe face-to-face already and might easily recognize him, Kurt intended to make sure he would get there first.

“We’ll be careful,” Kurt said. “Anything else we should know?”

“Only that things should go smoothly up front,” Nagano said. “My informant has placed you on the list. They will know Joe as a boxing promoter from Las Vegas. You are listed as a hedge fund manager with ties to Joe’s company. Websites, addresses and other background details have been arranged just in case anyone checks. I suspect the owners will be interested in getting you both to the tables. Reputations for betting and losing large sums have been established.”

“At least that part is accurate,” Kurt joked. He felt the billfold in his pocket. They each carried over a million yen, a little more than ten thousand dollars, but that was just for starters. Once they burned through their cash, the Sento’s staff would access accounts set up in their names and give them markers for ten times that amount.

“Where are we most likely to find Ushi-Oni?” Kurt asked.

“Impossible to say. But he’s the type that appreciates brutality. Look for him in the viewing stands of the combat arena.”

“Boxing isn’t necessary brutality,” Joe pointed out.

“There will be only one boxing match,” Nagano said. “Five rounds. It’s just a prelude. Bloodier combat will follow. I regret that you might see someone die on the floor in there. You will ha

ve to allow it or your cover will be destroyed.”

“Fights to the death?” Kurt said.

“Not necessarily,” Nagano told them, “but using weapons that can easily kill. Knives, swords, chains. Deadly combat, most often performed by those in the organization who have disgraced themselves. It is a chance for them to prove themselves worthy. But for those who fail . . . Let me just say, what you’re about to witness isn’t for the faint of heart.”

They spent the next two minutes in silence, driving the last quarter mile beside a twelve-foot fence of iron bars that sprouted from a formidable brick wall. Finally, they arrived at a massive front gate.

Armed men dressed in suits checked their credentials, searched beneath the car with mirrors and led two dogs around the outside to sniff for explosives. When the car was cleared, they were allowed to pull through.

A long driveway led up through ornate gardens. Brightly flowering shrubs, ornamental lanterns and cherry trees filled with blossoms lined the path; as they neared the building, they drove across a decorative wooden bridge that spanned a tranquil koi pond.

The traditional cues vanished as they reached the main building, which was of modern design with a façade made up of tinted glass. It rose two stories and was capped by a layer of smooth concrete. There was a definite curve to the structure and both sides vanished into hills covered in thick grass.

“Postmodern bomb shelter,” Kurt said, voicing the first thought that came to mind.

“More like an ultra-efficient building designed to take advantage of the Earth’s temperature-regulating properties,” Joe said.

“You are an optimist,” Kurt said.

“What you’re looking at is only the top level,” Nagano said. “This structure is designed like a stadium, circular and with a hollow interior, but instead of rising above ground, it punches down into it.”

Kurt had seen aerial photos taken before the building was finished. Behind the hills lay a natural depression. The hills and the man-made structure enclosed it and covered it.

While it was technically a hotel, lodging was offered only on the upper level. Farther down, one could find the darker parts of the operation: gambling, prostitution and drugs. At the bottom lay the combat arena that acted as the main attraction, visible through glass walls from everywhere else in the building.

The Bentley slowed as they approached the entry door. A valet walked up to them, but Nagano waved him off and parked just beyond the entry.